Reaching Out
by Bucken-Berry
Summary: Written for self-injury awareness day. Spencer meets a struggling teenager in a park and reaches out to her. No romance, just friendship.


A/N:This is my first Criminal Minds fanfiction. When I start a new fandom, I always worry that I am getting the characterization wrong, so please feel free to give me some pointers if I made Spencer OOC. Feedback of any kind is welcomed. Enjoy!

Spencer had no problem admitting he was trying to lose himself in his chess game. He focused all his thoughts on the board in front of him, running through the endless combination of moves he could play, what the odds of victory were, and how long that victory would take.

The case had been tough. Not an out-of-the-ordinary case by any means, but enough. Enough to stress the entire team out and make them practically bolt from the plane once it landed.

The unsub had been a man obsessed with making his former bosses regret firing him. So he'd preyed on high-rank firefighters, killing them in the most brutal fashion possible. He would blitz attack them from behind, restrain them, inject them with a paralytic drug, and then, once they couldn't move, couldn't scream, he burned them alive. The sheer brutality of the murders was enough to get to all of them.

So now Spencer found himself doing one of his favorite relaxation techniques. He made each move after a split-second of consideration, trying this time to find the best balance of a fair-sided game and a quick one. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice the person watching him until they spoke up.

"Um, hey, would you maybe play a game with me when you're done?"

Spencer blinked at the shy female voice. He set his black rook down and looked up to see a young-looking teenager. She was short and gentle-looking. She was pretty, but plain. Her clothing- worn, plain black long-sleeve shirt, faded jeans, baby blue shoes- only accented the plainness. Her skin was pale, especially compared to her red hair.

Her eyes were dark brown, but Spencer was more drawn to the fact that they were red and puffy, and dried tear-tracks were on her cheeks.

Immediately slipping into profiler mode, Spencer started to analyze what she'd been crying about, what kind of person she was. He had a few ideas, but decided not to make any conclusions until he talked to her.

"We can play now, if you'd like," Spencer offered. "Why don't you sit down?"

"Thanks," she said softly, taking the available seat. "What's your name?"

"Spencer. And you?" Spencer replied.

"Christina," she said.

Spencer nodded and started to set up the board. "Do you play chess often?"

"I used to," Christina said, sounding wistful. "But I quit for a while because- well, because."

Spencer could tell that she didn't want him to ask why, not yet at least. So instead he finished moving the pieces into place and said, "You can start."

Christina nonchalantly picked up the fifth white pawn from the left and moved it two spaces ahead. "Why do you like chess, Spencer?"

Spencer shrugged. "I just enjoy it. I don't have a reason why. Maybe it's the mental stimulation the complexity of it causes." He picked up the pawn on his far right and moved it two spaces. "Why do you like it?"

He looked up and saw that she was biting her lip. "You'll laugh at me," she whispered.

"I won't," Spencer said softly. "I promise."

"We used to have a family night on Thursdays, and everyone would always take turns playing chess against each other. There was my mom and dad, and me and my brother. But then my mom cheated on my dad and they got divorced. I quit playing chess after that."

"It's perfectly normal not to want to play after that," Spencer said. "The divorce would probably come to be associated with it, rather than the enjoyable times your family had." He paused for a moment, wanting to tell her a story of his own to make her feel less alone, but not wanting to open up his old wounds.

Finally, he simply said, "I used to play chess with a close friend, but he left suddenly and I haven't heard from him since. It took me a long time before I wanted to actually play chess again rather than attempting to plot the infinite scenarios on my own."

"I hate when people do that. They up and leave the people they care about and they don't think about anyone else," Christina said, voice wavering. Spencer saw tears streaking down her face again.

"Is that what your mother did?" Spencer asked gently.

"Yeah," Christina whispered. "And she refuses to answer any of our calls. She doesn't love us anymore."

"My father abandoned me when I was young," Spencer told her. "My mother was severely schizophrenic and that, combined with other factors, caused him to get frustrated and leave. I was forced to more or less take care of myself. I did- and still do- have a rather high intellect, but emotionally I couldn't handle it at all."

"I'm sorry. That must have been awful," Christina whispered. "How did you handle it?"

"I cut myself off from the world. I was bullied at school and my mom is a literature major, so it was easy to lose myself in novels and epics. I was in high school by the time I was twelve, and the coursework helped keep me occupied." Spencer said. "How have you coped so far?"

Christina shook her head. "I can't tell you."

Spencer looked at her critically, thinking about the worst-case scenarios. "Christina, whatever it is, you can tell me. I know I'm just a stranger but I do not judge people. I see a lot of people at their worst every day, and that makes me more empathetic."

"What do you do?" Christina asked, interested.

"I'm a profiler for the FBI. I see families of murder victims, or even families of murderers, who are struggling with their grief and trauma, and I have seen many of them do unhealthy things in an attempt to feel right again. Drinking, for instance, or taking illegal drugs or abusing legal ones," Spencer explained.

"Oh," Christina said quietly. She looked into her lap for a moment. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone."

"I promise," Spencer said again.

Christina sighed, pulling up the sleeve of her shirt. Spencer winced sympathetically when he saw what must have been dozens of deep, irritated lacerations.

"You must think I'm some whiny, emo attention whore," Christina muttered bitterly.

"Not at all, Christina," Spencer said. "Would you look at me?" He waited until Christina made eye contact for at least a few seconds. "Most self-harmers aren't attention seekers, and even the ones that are, usually want attention only if it means they get help. Most do it just like you; because they're hurting and it lets them feel their emotional pain on the outside as well. And like you, most people hide it until someone finds out on accident, or until they realize that they need help and ask for it."

"It's the only way I can sleep at night," Christina admitted tearfully. "It helps me relax."

"I know a lot of people who have been in that position," Spencer said. "Christina, believe me, it can and will get better. I have been in a very similar position." He inhaled, steadying himself to tell her about his Dilaudid addiction. "A criminal kidnapped me several years ago and tortured me. He repeatedly injected me with a medication similar to morphine, called Dilaudid. It's a very powerful and addictive drug. I almost died, and even though I recovered from my physically injuries, I still remained addicted and it took me months to overcome it. To this day, I still feel the urge to use it in times of great stress or depression. Self-harming is an addiction just like the drugs. You become addicted to the pain and your body's response. The reason cutting helps you relax is because of the chemicals your body releases when it's hurt."

"I'm sorry you went through all that. It must have been awful," Christina said softly. "And I never thought of cutting like that, but that does make sense. It is an addiction. But I don't think I can stop and part of me doesn't want to."

"That's the hallmark of an addiction," Spencer said, smiling wryly. "It becomes a crutch for you, and it soon becomes impossible to think of not using it. You have to find a better coping skill. Chess is one, obviously, and I'm sure you can find others."

"Yeah, I guess so," Christina said doubtfully. "It's just that playing chess doesn't do for me what cutting does."

"It isn't supposed to," Spencer said. "It's supposed to help you calm down a little bit and let your rational thinking return. When you're stressed to the point that you want to harm yourself, you're in a crisis state mentally. If you can just distract yourself for a few minutes, then you can calm down enough that you don't feel like you need to cut and you can take care of your emotions completely with a different release."

Christina still looked doubtful. "Try it," Spencer said. "I'm not asking you to believe me blindly, but just try it next time you're in a crisis and see if it works. In the meantime, can I give you a few suggestions?"

"Okay," Christina said.

"Do you have paper and a pen?" Spencer asked. Christina nodded and reached into her backpack, pulling out a piece of lined paper and a blue ballpoint pen. Quickly, Spencer wrote down a few phone numbers- the suicide hotline, an area counselor he knew of- and a few support forums for teens with depression. "I think these may help you," Spencer said, handing it back to her.

Christina took a deep breath. "Thank you, Spencer. I wanted to talk to someone but I didn't feel like I could tell anyone I knew. I still don't. I'm worried they'll be mad at me."

"I don't think so," Spencer said. "If they truly love you, they will support you and help you get better. They may be upset and possibly disappointed, but they won't be angry at you. And if they are…" He paused. "Can I see the paper again?"

Christina handed it and the pen back to him. Spencer wrote his own phone number down and returned it. "If they are truly angry at you, call me, and I'll help you through it. Actually, you can call me any time you have a problem and don't feel like you can talk to anyone else."

"Thank you," Christina said gratefully. "I appreciate you being so nice."

"It's no problem," Spencer said. "I want you to be happy and healthy. I want to help."

Christina smiled softly. "You definitely are helping." She looked down at the chess board. "Let's finish our game."

"Okay," Spencer said. He started planning his next few moves as Christina picked up her second pawn and moved it.

He knew that Christina wouldn't be completely better from this one conversation, but he knew he had helped at least a little. He just hoped that it would be enough to stop self-harming from taking over her life like the Dilaudid addiction nearly had for him.


End file.
